I promise you
by Way Worse Than Scottish
Summary: She smiled sadly. "I don't think Michael will be able to find us." "Oh, sure, he's definitely been caught by the government, but he's a smart lad. He'll be able to weave his way around them. Just you wait, we'll see him in his daft tan coat waiting for us when we reach shore." Yasim grinned. "With the same stupid sweater and everything," she choked out a sob.


The last enemy fanfiction

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Yasim looked out over the water, hoping Michael would show up. It was futile, of course. She knew it. She could feel his absence. She didn't know how, and she didn't know who, but she knew her dead husband was dead... again.

She sighed. She couldn't help but feel relieved. She felt guilty, too. What wife would feel good about their husband's death? Well, one who'd been lied to about their death and the fact that he also hadn't told her about the fact that he'd jabbed himself as well. Of course she loved him, though.

"You're welcome," a thick Scottish accent said from behind her. "He's the nasty bugger that destroyed my hideout. He shouldn't have ever come back from the dead."

Russell walked up beside her and looked pensively over the edge of the boat. He was still wearing that ridiculous outfit of all black leathers. Still, she guessed it added to the whole, "too cool for you, might kill you," assassin look.

"Not surprised, really," she answered. She searched his face, tears welling up in her eyes. "It's silly. I shouldn't be crying again."

"Darlin', he was _tagged_. Now we should be safe. Now you can go back to Michael. I didn't mind him all too much, if I recall correctly."

She smiled sadly. "I don't think Michael will be able to find us."

"Oh, sure, he's definitely been caught by the government, but he's a smart lad. He'll be able to weave his way around them. Just you wait, we'll see him in his daft tan coat waiting for us when we reach shore."

Yasim grinned. "With the same stupid sweater and everything," she choked out a sob.

Russell wrapped an arm around her and she leaned into his embrace. "Besides, I've left him a notice. He'll be sure to find us within the next twelve hours, I left him a few gadgets even a wee one could understand."

She sniffed then straightened out her back, swallowing her pain. She turned her head back to him. "Who _are_ you?"

He laughed lightly and leaned his head to the side. "Doesn't really matter, we're on the same side."

"Right. Running from the British government. Just like the entire population of Britain will be once they realize what's going on."

He smiled. "They're daft, the lot of them. Just like sheep in the slaughter house, too preoccupied with the grass in front of them to care about their impending doom."

"You're cheery today."

A loud horn went off. "Well, I suppose that means we're about to reach land."

"I was never here," he whispered ominously and left her on the edge.

She sighed heavily and went back to her cabin, leaving the unopened sandwiches and drinks. Packing her bags, she looked in the mirror. She hadn't slept in a while. Surprisingly Michael had never noticed. Or he chose never to mention it. Either way, he's gone now.

The siren sounded again as the boat shook from being anchored.

"All passengers please debark. Welcome to France. Bienvenue à la France."

She took her bag and left her compartment, thinking of Stephen and his daft face. He'd probably have calculated the angle the floor was tilted at and just... she missed him. She missed the way he looked at her, as though he was unsure of her. He had reason to be, obviously, but he always tried to hide it. He tried to appear stoic at all times, but she remembered the way he looked when she left with Michael.

Her only hope now was that he was waiting at the end of the dock. But she couldn't count on it. Genius he may be, but superhero? Definitely not.

Stepping off the boat with the rest of the passengers, she couldn't help but take a quick look around to see if she could find that stupid tan trench coat of his.

"Keep walking," a deep baritone said from behind her. Her heart nearly burst. He was _here. _He was actually _here. _"Where's Michael?"

Her spirits sunk. "Dead in the waters, somewhere."

"Mm."

He led her to a little black Fiat, taking her bag and stuffing it in the trunk. They both squished into the back seats, Russell putting on his sunglasses as he started the car.

"You're _here_." She whispered breathlessly, her eyes sparkling.

"I promised I'd find you, didn't I?" Stephen Ezzard replied. "Now who's good at speaking french?"


End file.
